


A Suitable Show of Gratitude

by Aja



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-24
Updated: 2009-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:25:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/pseuds/Aja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just shut up and tell Arthur what you want for your birthday, Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Suitable Show of Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suaine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suaine/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Suaine!

"I order you to tell me what you want as a present," Arthur says flatly.  
  
"I don't want anything!" Merlin insists. "Why won't you believe me?"  
  
Arthur gives him that 'were you actually born this socially backwards or has it just been a natural outgrowth of general stupidity?' look. "Because, Merlin," he says, pronouncing the words slowly so Merlin will be sure to understand him, "Even an idiot such as yourself should know that when one has a birthday, one gets to ask for things."  
  
"From one's... friends," says Merlin, looking directly at him. Arthur grimaces.   
  
"No, not from a  _friend_  - well, not  _just_  from one's friends. From one's family, and one's - employer."  
  
"Employer," Merlin repeats. "Ah."  
  
Arthur rolls his eyes and ignores him. Merlin is impossible when he's like this. "And as your employer, I'm obligated to give you something in appreciation for your service, aren't I?"   
  
Merlin's grin cracks his whole face wide open. "But Arthur, you  _never_  appreciate my services," he beams, and Arthur tries very hard not to stamp his foot.  
  
"Just - look," he says, choosing to mask his exasperation by focusing on Merlin's bright blue eyes, the way they light up when Arthur's trying to get him to do something he doesn't want to do, or admit something he doesn't want to admit - sometimes in anger, but mostly just in bemusement, like now, soft and faint around the edges. "How could I call myself a great king if I didn't acknowledge the people who helped make me so?"  
  
Merlin's smile grows even wider, and Arthur's not prepared for the way that warms him from the inside out.   
  
"You think I’ll help you become a great king?" Merlin asks him, ducking his gaze away for a moment as if he's having trouble looking Arthur in the face when he says it. He almost sounds breathless.  
  
Arthur can't even bring himself to scoff or roll his eyes, can't do anything but look back at him, stare at him, really, wondering for the eightieth time that day or that week or that instant who Merlin really is, how he came to be in Arthur's life, and what either of them would ever, ever do if he were to go away again.  
  
He should pick the charade back up, he thinks – in point of fact he should do it  _right now_  - but he can’t seem to make himself form the words, not with Merlin’s glance darting up at him like that, not with the way his cheeks are growing slowly red.  
  
Fortunately, whatever Merlin sees on his face must do the trick, because Merlin’s grin turns a little wicked, and Arthur straightens up, immediately on his guard.  
  
"So this is just about you looking good," Merlin says, taking a step closer.  
  
"I - yes, fine," Arthur hisses, losing all patience, perhaps because Merlin moving closer means Arthur notices the way the blush is spreading slowly down over his neckline, down to the trickle of hair that starts just above the lacings in his tunic. “If you have to have some reason, fine, it’s all about making me look good, Merlin.”  
  
Merlin takes another step closer (his hair’s getting longer, there are tips of it brushing the back of his neck), and another (why is his mouth so  _pink_ , surely that’s not an earthly hue), and another, and then Arthur realizes Merlin has backed him into the doorjamb. Arthur attempts to shove him off but only gets as far as wrapping his hand around Merlin’s (surprisingly unscrawny) bicep. And then he forgets to move, possibly because he’s trying to remember where he misplaced his next breath.  
  
“That won’t be necessary,” Merlin murmurs, close enough for his voice to ghost over Arthur’s lips. “I think you look quite good already.”  
  
And that’s it, that’s enough, Arthur has had it up to here with Merlin, really, of all the – he sighs and lets his head drop forward in defeat, just far enough so that his hair brushes Merlin’s forehead. After another moment he can’t help the laugh that escapes him, and Merlin laughs, too.  
  
Then he leans in as well so that their foreheads touch and laughter hovers between them. Arthur finally remembers how to breathe and lifts his hand from Merlin’s arm to cup his face.  
  
“Just shut up and tell me what you want for your birthday,” Arthur says, his fingertips brushing Merlin’s hair, thumb grazing his lips. Merlin’s smile has gone a bit moony. Arthur doesn’t mind this in the least.  
  
“I think I might’ve just gotten it,” Merlin says softly, and turns his head to brush his lips against Arthur’s palm.  
  
“Is that so,” Arthur tries to snap, which proves completely futile since he’s also stuttering on a gasp at the same time. “What you wanted was to back the Crown Prince against a wall and tell him you find him physically attractive? Really, Merlin, I know that secretly that’s what everyone wants, but I half expected better things from you.” He’s still attempting a bluff, but it’s completely undermined when he sneaks his arm around Merlin’s waist, to pull him closer. (At some point he’ll ask himself why it took him so long to get here, probably around the same point at which he asks himself what the  _hell_  he is thinking, but both of those points are not  _this point_ , at which Merlin is still leaning into his touch, his skin bizarrely smooth next to Arthur’s hand.)  
  
Arthur drops his voice and lowers his stare meaningfully.   
  
“Don’t you want me to spoil you rotten?”   
  
He’s pleased to watch the emotions that shift across Merlin’s face. Among other things, it erases whatever fleeting doubt remained that he would very, very much like to spoil Merlin rotten.  
  
“Actually,” Merlin says, shifting still closer, so that their hips and their thighs are brushing together, so that when Merlin threads his hands through Arthur’s hair he has to lean back in order to get a better grasp. “What I want right now is for you to stop talking.”  
  
“Oh,” says Arthur.  
  
“- your highness,” Merlin adds sweetly, and then leans in and kisses him on the mouth.  
  
____  
  
  
An hour or so later, and, frustratingly, after Arthur is pretty well convinced they’ve already worked out the nature of Merlin’s present, Merlin laughs that actually, what he  _really_  wants is for Arthur to promise never to execute him.  
  
“What?” says Arthur, giving him a shove over onto his back. “I’m not promising that, I’ve half a mind to execute you right now for the sheer gall of asking.”  
  
“So much for royal appreciation,” sighs Merlin, and then he flips Arthur over just like that and returns to pressing insistent little nips and kisses all along Arthur’s left hip.   
  
Arthur squirms and wriggles, and then Merlin adds tongue, and Arthur gasps and murmurs a few choice phrases, and then Merlin looks up at him and beams, so angelic and lovely he’s almost golden. And Arthur drags him up to continue spoiling him, because that’s what you do for your faithful servant and loyal follower - who is still not in any way shape or form your friend, because he’s mostly incompetent and his eyes are a weird color and his mouth is much too pouty and pink for what’s proper. And because he can’t use a sword for anything, or hunt, and because his ears stick out much too far, and he makes the word “prat” sound far too much like the highest compliment anyone could ever get, and –   
  
“Fine,” he grumbles, as much as anyone can grumble when they’re sucking someone else’s collarbone. “Fine, I promise never to execute you.”  
  
“Mmm,” says Merlin, and then, “Oh, oh, that’s – mmm,” which Arthur takes for appreciation.  
  
“I mean, unless of course you turn out to be a wizard or something,” he disclaims as an afterthought, and stops whatever unimportant thing Merlin is about to say next with a sloppy (genuine) kiss.


End file.
